housekeeper at platnerska, of Kuttenberg
“I keep the fire and scrub the pots for my mother's house. It is honest work, and keeps my mind from straying.”
Things Anna Torwart had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Christina is weeping again for the journeyman Konrad who went to Prague. I told her a local man with a roof is better than a wanderer's promises, but she will not hear it. It is better to trust in the Lord and hard work than foolish dreams.
Nota scribaeDictated while she kneaded her left hand. She asked me to speak softly so her mother would not hear.
the Thursday after Easter, at Terce
Father Sebastian demands twelve groschen for Sedletz Abbey to lay my father in blessed ground. We have but six. Mother shouts at us all, but it is grief speaking. I cross myself and pray the Lord keeps my father's soul safe while his body waits in the house.
The fee is set by the Abbey, child. The Church cannot run on prayers alone. Bring the rest of the coin and the rites will be said.
Twelve groschen! Where am I to find it? The man bled us dry while he lived, and now they want more to bury him!
I can put him in the earth for four groschen, mistress. No bells, but the worms don't care about bells.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Sext
The wind today goes right into the bone. Wringing out the heavy linens took longer than usual. My left hand is just stiff from the cold, that is all. I must remember to rub some goose fat into it tonight before sleep.
You shouldn't scrub so hard, Anna. The pots will just get dirty again tomorrow.
If I do not scrub them, who will? Mother needs peace, not dirty pots.
Nota scribaeShe rubbed the hand the whole time she spoke. The joint looks swollen.
the third Sunday in Lent, at Prime
Uncle John was in the yard this morning chopping wood. He is a quiet man, and I like that. I sometimes wonder if he keeps his savings buried out by the woodpile, but it is a sin to covet, and I would never ask.
A man's business is his own, niece. Best keep your eyes on the wash basin.
the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at None
There are more soldiers on the road from Prague today. They took three loaves from the baker without paying. It makes bread dearer for the rest of us. Mother says we must make the flour stretch with more bran. God preserve us.
Half bran, half sawdust next week if this keeps up. The King's brother is eating us out of house and home.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Konrad swore he would send for me when he finds a master. You do not understand because you have never loved anyone but your pots.
I only wish to see you safe, sister. The roads are not kind to wanderers these days.